


Impossibilities

by Too_many_fandoms_to_name



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character Thoughts, Close Your Eyes Sammy, Death Dies, Episode Tag, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Release of the Darkness, Season 10 Episode 23: My Brother's Keeper tag, season 10 finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:44:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5440550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_many_fandoms_to_name/pseuds/Too_many_fandoms_to_name
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 10 Episode 23: My Brother’s Keeper tag. My take on what was going through the brothers’ heads during these scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Impossibilities

**Author's Note:**

> So, I’m walking the knife’s edge here. I just couldn’t resist writing this. I hope you enjoy because it took me a long time to write. Also, these are individual thoughts of the brothers which is why they’re not looking at the bigger picture, just the moment they’re in. This piece is unedited because I had no time, so any mistakes are all mine (like they usually are, lol). Read and review and please tell me if I should use different formatting styles to differentiate between what is said by Sam and what is said by Dean. Enjoy!

_“Good... good. Fight.”_

In retrospect, Sam figured he shouldn’t have thrown the first punch. But Dean was being infuriating. How was Sam expected to _not_ get angry at his stupid, self-sacrificial, irritatingly noble brother? No matter how hard Sam tried to shove the fact that _Dean is a good man_ in said man’s face, Dean just refused to believe it, insistent on the notion that he was evil. That _they_ were evil. Had he forgotten how many sacrifices they’d made for the world? If anything, the world owed _them_ one for a change. So what if the Darkness got released? They’d just put it down like any other evil they hunted. That is what the Winchesters did for a living, after all. Sam just didn’t understand why Dean refused to get that. Why he was so panicked about something he’d never even heard about, much less encountered? But Sam didn’t have a lot of time to figure it out because he could _see_ the Mark taking over his brother because of Sam’s impulsive punch. Fighting it out it was, then.

Before Sam had thrown the punch, Dean actually was _Dean_. It was the compassionate, caring, overprotective brother who was in-charge. It was the broken, hurt and afraid man who was speaking. Dean was tired of hurting people. He was tired of the guilt trips he went on when he managed to get control back from the bloody Mark of Cain. He was _sick_ of seeing the disgust on people’s faces and, more importantly, he was absolutely done with seeing the disappointment in his little brother’s face. The face that used to hold love and affection and even admiration now only seemed to hold disappointment at the failure Dean had become. Ever since Dean had tricked Sam into allowing Gadreel to enter his body (thereby causing the death of Kevin and probably other people) things hadn’t been the same. It was just one disaster after another. In his more morbid moments, Dean smiled bitterly at what looked like a domino effect – one emotional setback that triggered another emotional setback which triggered yet another emotional setback and so on. So, when he finally managed to do what he’d dreaded would happen – when he got Rooney killed – Dean decided, he’d had it. So, he had to bribe Death to kill him, so what? He’d do it. His job was to hunt all evil he came across. And as far as Dean was concerned, he had become fair game.

A “good man” did not get an old friend killed. A “good man” did not trick his brother and irreparably damage the bond they had. A “good man” was not the source of his brother’s sorrow. As Sam argued with him that he was, in fact, a “good man”, Dean conceded that, no, asking Sam to come here was not the best idea he’d had. Not because Sam was convincing him, God no, Dean was beyond the point of being convinced. No, it was because he couldn’t kill his little brother. Looking at Sam now, Dean was grudgingly reminded of the little boy who argued with Dean over who the best Power Ranger was or the man who bantered with him about the Three Stooges, of all things. He also reluctantly came to terms with the fact that he had made a horribly wrong call. One that would certainly be extremely hard to go back on. He had called Sam here when his mind was clouded with guilt and anger and confusion and, if Dean was honest with himself, hurt at his little brother – who he’d _died_ for – not wanting to be brothers anymore. In a fit of jumbled emotions and an almost childish (if not for the seriousness of the matter) need to get revenge for hurting him, Dean had gone ahead and made the deal with Death to wipe out both Winchesters. He’d reasoned with himself then that if Sam was willing to unleash unspeakable evil just to save _Dean_ then Sam was evil, too. Now that he was forced to contemplate their – and more importantly, _Sam’s_ – past, Dean realized that Sam was anything _but_ evil. He’d been terrified of turning into exactly that, so he’d forced Dean to promise to kill him if he did. Sam had been so remorseful for releasing Lucifer, he’d agreed to let _Satan_ possess him and jump into the Cage to stop the Apocalypse from destroying the planet. If those were the actions of a bad man, then Dean was a purple duckling. Dean _had been_ trying to come up with a plan to get Sam out of there, while trying to control the need for his brother’s blood staining his hands that rushed through his veins and made him feel light-headed. And then, Sam had punched him and all thoughts even resembling rational were thrown out the proverbial window. The Mark sang through Dean’s entire being and Dean lost control, the glorified dark-spot completely dominating him.

The brothers exchanged a flurry of punches, jabbing, dodging, making contact, neither willing to give up their belief. And eventually, as they both had known, Sam lost. But the Mark wouldn’t let Dean stop. He wanted – or rather, the _Mark_ wanted – Sam’s corpse to lie at his feet. With herculean effort, Dean reigned himself in, though, he doubted he would’ve been able to do it, had Sam not asked him to stop.

_“Okay… that’s enough… that’s enough.”_

Sam was bitter. He could admit it. He’d never been able to defeat his brother in hand-to-hand except that one time when he’d been hopped up on demon blood and that was because he had been hopped up on demon blood. And because he didn’t care if he hurt Dean. But now was different. He didn’t want to hurt his brother, which led to his loss because, this time, it was Dean who didn’t care if he hurt his little brother. Sam accepted his defeat. He also accepted that he was going to die. He had accepted it when Dean first told him. His death – or rather, his life – wasn’t what he’d fought for. He’d fought because if Dean went through with this God-awful plan, then he’d be alone; one of Dean’s greatest fears. Didn’t he realize? But, after the fight, Sam accepted that Dean knew what he was doing and let the fight leave his body. If Dean was fighting this hard for the plan, then there must be something to it. But he would not give up without embedding the truth in Dean’s head, even if he had to die.

_“You'll never, ever hear me say that you – the real you, is anything but good. But you're right, before you hurt anyone else, you have to be stopped at any cost. I understand. Do it.”_

Dean didn’t want Sam to believe it. Now that the Mark’s thirst for blood had been quenched, at least for a little while, his mind was clear. And he didn’t want to kill Sam. Was inwardly cringing at the thought that he’d even considered doing that to his little brother. Just as Sam accepted his fate, Dean realized he didn’t want him to die and he especially didn’t want to kill him. Hell, he didn’t even want Sam there.

Death seemed to sense his hesitance and handed him the scythe.

_“Please. Do me the honour.”_

Sam felt terror, looking at the scythe. It was huge and looked like it would cause a pretty painful death. Then he remembered who was wielding it and realized that his death would be as painless as possible and this would be way harder on Dean than either of them had thought, if the way Dean was handling the scythe was any indication. Comprehension rushed to Sam as he looked at his brother. Dean didn’t want to kill him. Hesitant wasn’t the word he’d use, it wasn’t strong enough. Unwilling was close, but not enough either. Resistant might do it. Reluctant, too. Sam felt sorry for his brother, but he did have to die. Dean didn’t want to, and hence, shouldn’t be allowed to, hurt anyone else. Sam took a deep breath and faced his brother, readied for slaughter. And if his eyes were filling with tears, well, he wouldn’t be around long enough to be teased for it.

Dean didn’t like the feel of the scythe in his hand. It was cold and large and felt a million kinds of wrong. He was expected to swing that horrifyingly large blade at Sam while making the death as painless as possible. Easy, right? Dean hated the plan and he hated that he had to go through with this. He was scared of being alone. How could he have forgotten that? But Death would definitely kill Sam himself if Dean didn’t do it and Dean would have to watch, helpless, as his brother died what might not be a painless death. Doing it himself was the lesser of the two evils, surely?

Dean prepared himself to slay his little brother, looking for all the world like a piece of himself was on the verge of death. He looked down, only to be surprised by Sam, looking all of five years old, staring up at him. And Dean was hit with it again: he was supposed to kill _Sam_. Sam, who loved Dean more than he cared about the world. Sam, the emo girl who wanted Dean to talk his feelings out because he wanted to share the burden. Sam, the kid who had always been the light of Dean’s life. He wouldn’t ever be there again after today if Dean went through with this. Yet, Dean didn’t have a choice. But if Dean knew one thing, it was that he couldn’t kill Sam if he was looking at Dean. He couldn’t watch the life leave Sam’s eyes. He couldn’t be the one who had to close the lids of the lifeless eyes. He wouldn’t be able to make it through that. His heart breaking, Dean said the words he knew would haunt him forever.

_“Close your eyes.”_

A tear escaped his eye, even though he’d tried his best to hold it in. Dean was just… his loving, scared big brother, who didn’t want this anymore than he did. But Sam stared back, defiant without wanting to be. He didn’t want to make Dean suffer even more than he was going to, but he needed this. He needed the last thing he ever saw to be his brother, the man who loved him more than any other person who had ever existed. The man who killed him so that the world would be saved. The man who was willing to live his fear for the rest of his life if it meant he couldn’t hurt another person again. He needed it and he would take it. Dean had never begrudged him something he needed before, Sam doubted he’d do so now.

Sam was crying, which never spelled anything good for Dean. He had never been able to see his little brother cry and he didn’t want to start now. But he had no choice, a fact that just served to agonize him. That and, Sam didn’t close his eyes. That didn’t surprise Dean as much as he’d like to say it did. The kid never did take well to being given orders. If they were in any other situation, that might’ve made Dean smile. Now, it just filled him with dread and apprehension. He couldn’t do this, why didn’t Sam understand? He pleaded with his eyes, begging Sam to _please just close your eyes, Sammy_ and got an answer:

_‘_ _You won’t let me be selfish enough to save you. At least let me be selfish enough to have this.’_

Dean’s heart twisted. It was a Sammy-like thing to do, he shouldn’t be surprised. Yet he was. He’d figured Sam would hate him. But, here the kid was, still staring at Dean like he was five again and Dean was just putting him to bed. Dean projected his pleading out as much as he possibly could, willing Sam to understand that he really couldn’t do the deed if Sam was looking at him. And do the deed he must, because he had no choice.

_‘Please Sam. Please, I can’t… just close your eyes. I don’t want to. Please close your eyes.’_

Dean was begging him, which was wrong on so many levels. Dean wasn’t supposed to beg. Dean was supposed to be the one who gave in with a fond sigh. A lump rose in his throat. He didn’t want to force Dean, but Dean had to understand; he was the singular most important person in Sam’s life. To not be the last thing Sam saw was something Sam didn’t want to let happen. He needed this. And then Sam got it. Dean needed it, too. Dean knew Sam needed this and Dean had always given Sam what he’d needed. To not be doing so, especially now, meant that Dean couldn’t be able to do it if Sam was looking straight at him. Which, granted, was extremely reasonable. So, for the first and probably last time, Dean asked and Sam gave, the role reversal lost on neither of them.

_“Sammy, close your eyes.”_

_“…wait.”_

He really wasn’t trying to make this harder on Dean. And he wasn’t stalling in hopes of a rescue, because the person who supposed to be his rescuer was standing in front of him with a scythe, eyes broken and red-rimmed from hurt and tiredness. He’d just remembered that he’d brought something to convince Dean with. But that wasn’t the reason why he was giving them. Now that they were past the point of convincing, Sam just wanted Dean to have something. He didn’t even know why, it would probably hurt more than heal, but it felt wrong to not give them to the soon-to-be last remaining Winchester.

_“Take these. And one day, when you find your way back, let these be your guide. They can help you remember what it was to be good. What it was to love.”_

Sam took out the photos of his mother, himself and Dean and placed them gently on the floor.

Sam was inadvertently making this harder and harder on Dean and he wanted to yell at him to stop. Actually, between himself and the food, Dean wanted nothing more than to throw the scythe away, banish Death and pull his brother close and hug him, tight. Why did Sam keep stopping him? Was Cas coming in for a rescue? If so, should Dean help him or pick up the pace? Just as Dean was about to verbally plead with Sam to stop, he looked at the photos, and froze. He remembered those. They were in his room when he left the place. He wanted Sam to have them as a reminder of what their family used to be before Azazel ruined their lives and as a reminder of Mary Winchester. Looking at the photos, Dean’s throat tightened. What would Mary say, if she saw them like this? Older poised to kill the younger-

Death, the silent observer, spoke.

_“It's for family you must proceed, Dean. To be what you are, to become what you've become is a stain on their memory. Do it, or I will.”_

Dean looked at the photos and then at Sam, desperately, searching for an answer, any answer. Hell, if a demon had showed up right then, he’d have made a deal. Dean’s mind was screaming at him to stop, asking him what the hell was he doing holding that stupidly large scythe when Sam was on the floor, injured and crying. Sam wasn’t helping a lot either, as he nodded at Dean to go ahead, indicating he was done making Dean’s life more miserable than it had any right to be. So, no Cas. Needless to say, that did not make Dean feel any better. Dean wanted to scream. He wanted Death gone and he wanted the Mark gone and he wanted the agony of the burden that was killing Sam gone. It wasn’t fair, Dean thought hysterically, that he’d come here to ask Death to kill him and Sam was the one who had to die. If an alternative presented itself to Dean, he’d gladly accept it. And, suddenly it struck him. He _did_ have a choice. It would have severe consequences, but at that moment, Dean didn’t care. He did, however, care about how Sam would react, so he tried to forewarn him.

_“Forgive me.”_

So, it was really happening. Dean really was going to kill him. Sam couldn’t fault him, he couldn’t see a way out of this situation either, but he had wanted to believe… it didn’t matter. Dean would live and he’d probably get over it, and that was what was important. Sam braced himself.

Sam didn’t get it and Dean couldn’t really blame him for it because it was so crazy. For a heart-stopping second, Dean was unsure of whether he should go ahead with the plan. But then he saw Sam nod minutely and his resolve hardened. His brother accepting death was not something Dean could withstand.

Gripping the scythe tightly, Dean swung the weapon with all his might, not missing the way his brother’s eyes flinched shut. He felt the scythe halt sickeningly as it hit its intended target: Death.

Dean and Sam watched with a mix of fascination and horror as Death froze, looking subtly surprised, and then turned to dust and crumbled.

As if suddenly realizing the implications of just exactly what he’d done, Dean, who’d been staring at the ashes that had just seconds ago been Death, looked round at Sam who, until that moment, had been looking at the pile of ashes, too. Sam looked up at him, breathing hard in shock.

Dean really _looked_ at his brother then. Sam was going to have some spectacular bruises later. _Later_. Sam was going to _be_ there, later. Dean released all the tension in his body in a long, relieved breath. This had been a hard… well, decade really, but he was digressing. He completely turned to face Sam, silently offering his hand, like an olive branch, the most he could right then. Sam smiled tremulously and took his hand, seeing the hand for what it was meant to be, and stood up unsteadily. Dean really had done a number on him. Without meaning to, Dean winced in sympathy and guilt. Sam noticed and met his eyes head on, communicating without saying a word that he didn’t blame Dean for it at all. Dean averted his eyes, wanting to be forgiven but unable to accept the apology just then, still processing all that had gone down. Sam understood and smiled at him softly, stumbling away to… do something. Sit probably, because the kid really was unsteady on his feet.

Dean walked towards the duffle, starting to pack, feeling a little out of depth for no reason when he heard a weird growling kind of sound. He would’ve called it a demon-cloud only it felt… different. More primordial. He turned to share a look with Sam as if to ask _‘now what?’_ and Sam shared his perplexity, only, Sam seemed more scared than confused. Feeling an anxious knot form in the pit of his stomach, Dean voiced his dread.

_“That sound right to you?”_

Before Sam had a chance to answer, lightning burst through the ceiling and latched itself to Dean's arm.

For the next few seconds, Dean could’ve sworn he was back in Hell. The pain was excruciating. It felt like all his blood was boiling while being pulled to the surface. The lightning burned only his right arm, feeling like, for all intents and purposes, it lived under his skin. The rest of his body was unharmed, but unresponsive. Groaning in pain, Dean fell against the table and held on to his right arm with his left hand, unsure of what to do but wanting the pain to go away. And then, it was over, the lightning going back, seemingly having taken what it had wanted. Dean stared down at his arm, feeling the skin, the Mark that had ruined his life now non-existent, leaving no impression, like it had never been there in the first place. Dean felt the utter relief that came with losing the Mark, losing that nagging need to kill, to see blood. And then he felt the horror that came with being the last person to bear the Mark and seeing it go, knowing all the implications that came with it. The next thing Dean felt was panic and urgency, he had to get them out of there. Now. He looked at Sam once again, seeing Sam dazed with shock, his mind probably stunned with everything that had happened – Dean’s beat-down probably not helping matters – and with relief to see his brother free of the curse that had plagued them both, but Sam didn’t fully understand the consequences, not like Dean did. He hadn’t heard the fear in Death’s voice and, well, anything that scared Death… Dean figured, it was an acceptable reaction to be terrified. Tossing things haphazardly into the bag, Dean started moving towards the door, knowing Sam would follow.

So… that happened. Sam was still recovering from the initial shock of having watched Death die and then the Mark got zapped off Dean’s arm. Utterly unsure of what to do now, Sam looked to his brother for help, only to see the flurry of emotions on his face, which eventually settled on panic and urgency. He watched, as Dean threw things into the bag and zipped it, hurrying towards the exit and knew he was expected to follow. Wanting to soothe his brother, Sam spoke.

_“This is good, Dean. This is good. The Mark is off your arm, nothing bad happened, you get your Baby back…”_

_“Yeah, I’m sure everything is_ perfectly _fine.”_

Smiling lightly, because that was _his_ Dean talking, Sam finally allowed himself to cautiously hope that things would turn out okay. Which was of course when things went to Hell. In accordance with Winchester luck – or lack thereof – red lightning lit up the sky, weird-sounding thunder rumbling overhead, which was in itself strange because there had been no clouds that day.

_“What the-”_

Red lightning struck the ground, bringing Dean’s panic up to a whole new level. He was just starting to calm down, bantering with his miraculously alive little brother when lightning hit, literally. If this was… no, it couldn’t be. The end result was too horrific to be pondered. And yet, it seemed to be because lightning hit one, two, six, _countless_ places all around the brothers and the ramshackle building behind them. Normal lightning hitting the ground that many times was worrisome enough, but when the lightning was red… well, that just spoke for itself. Fires sprung up where the lightning had hit grass and Dean knew they should really get out of there before something really bad happened, but for unfathomable reasons, his feet felt stuck to the ground.

_“What’d Death call this?”_

_“…the Darkness.”_

Even Dean, with all his talent in denial, couldn’t deny that that was it this was. Death had warned them of what would happen if the Mark ever left Dean’s arm and _here they were_. Right in the middle of what looked to be another sensational crap-fest.

He probably should’ve been more worried than he was, considering that Dean looked like he was on the edge of a nervous breakdown. But looking at his brother, who was a little less high-strung than he had been, thanks to the absence of the Mark, all Sam could feel was relief, even if it was tinged with panic and worry. And then things _really_ went downhill, as the brothers felt the ground shake and watched, horrified, as living, growling, rumbling columns of pure blackness explode through the terrain, gathering in a colossal wall of unadulterated evil.

_“Get in the car-”_

_“Yeah-”_

_“Let’s go, let’s go!”_

Right then, along with alarm, terror and trepidation, Dean also felt annoyed. They’d thrown themselves into the car and slammed the doors shut just after they’d gotten in only to get stuck in a pothole. He knew Winchesters didn’t have a lot of good luck, but honestly, this was taking it too far. And then Dean forgot all about being annoyed as he stared at the Darkness rushing towards them, enveloping everything in its path.

The brothers shared a look, both of them afraid, and incredibly, Dean took Sam’s hand and squeezed, not promising that they’d be okay – he didn’t make promises he couldn’t keep – rather, that he was there, and he was not leaving without a fight.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I hope you enjoyed that. I’d love to know what you think, so please leave a review! If you find any mistakes, don’t hesitate to point them out. Also, don't forget to tell me if I should use different formatting styles.


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